


Longer, if I May

by star_trainwreck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_trainwreck/pseuds/star_trainwreck
Summary: Iwaizumi’s math notebook was on fire.A getting-together story with a dash of humor, a sprinkle of angst, and a whole lot of romance.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	Longer, if I May

Iwaizumi’s math notebook was on fire.

“Holy _shit_ , Oikawa!” he yelped, slapping the flaming notebook out of Oikawa’s hands and slamming a lid over the grease fire the setter had started. He grabbed the nearest dish, a ceramic plate that Oikawa had intended for their fried fish, and stamped out the flames enveloping the precious notebook. A healthy plume of smoke spurted from the extinguished paper, and Iwaizumi cursed. Again.

“What possessed you,” he seethed, “to use my  _ very flammable notebook  _ to put out a  _ fire _ ?”

Oikawa flashed a brilliant smile, posing with absurd confidence for someone who had just spectacularly failed to make dinner. “It was the closest thing I could find! Besides, it’s not like you  _ need  _ it, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi put Oikawa in a headlock. “You crossed your  _ entire kitchen  _ to take that notebook from me. And I was using it. At that moment. To do my math homework. Which is due  _ tomo— _ ” 

A loud screeching interrupted, and Iwaizumi swore. Oikawa escaped from his clutches and danced out of reach. “That’s my fire alarm!” He sounded far too enthusiastic. He began fanning the offending alarm vigorously with the charred notebook; flakes of black pages flew everywhere. Groaning, Iwaizumi grabbed two dish towels, handing one to Oikawa and yanking the suffering notebook out of his hands. The boys fanned the alarm together, Oikawa frenetically and Iwaizumi rhythmically. 

“You don’t need to help, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa assured, smiling devilishly. “You’re too short to make a difference, anyway.” Growling, Iwaizumi twisted up his towel and whipped him in the backside. Oikawa let out an undignified “EEP!” just as the fire alarm stopped beeping. 

Iwaizumi groaned, collapsing onto Oikawa’s kitchen floor and flicking through the precious, damaged book. Many parts were salvageable. Unfortunately, the notebook had been open to the section about differential equations, which were the subject of his current homework assignment.  _ Damn.  _ It would be doable without the notes, but difficult. Maybe he’d ask Hanamaki. Oikawa was far better at math than either of them, but between Iwaizumi’s fury and his refusal to reinforce his best friend’s ego, asking the diva for help was not an option.

Oikawa flopped onto the ground in front of him, hands balled in the pocket of an oversized tie-dye sweatshirt. God, that sweatshirt was awful. “Will it be okay?” Oikawa asked, voice anxious. Surprised, Iwaizumi looked up at his friend’s face. Oikawa’s eyebrows were knit together with genuine concern, and his lips were slightly parted. Against his will, Iwaizumi’s anger ebbed away.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re lending me your notes for the next test, though. And the final. And you’re buying us takeout tonight, since you turned our fish into charcoal. And you’re promising never to try to cook again.”

Oikawa pouted. “So mean, Iwa-chan! Fine, but you’re watching a movie with me tonight. My choice.”

Iwaizumi sighed, more in resignation than annoyance. “I need to finish my homework, Shittykawa. And I just experienced an unexpected setback.”

Oikawa assumed his best puppy-dog-eyes expression, which was even more impressive than usual under his glasses. “Please? I just underwent a horrible experience. I need to relax. And you work too hard, Iwa-chan. Just do your homework during lunch tomorrow!” 

Rolling his eyes, and ignoring the fact that the fire had  _ clearly  _ been the most exciting incident of Oikawa’s life, Iwaizumi nodded. 

Four hours, two servings of mediocre Chinese food, one trashy alien movie, and one pillowfight later, Iwaizumi couldn’t help thinking that it had been worth it.

\-----------------------

By the time Iwaizumi met Oikawa on the way to school the next morning, he was starting to feel anxious about the incomplete homework in his backpack. He wasn’t usually the type to worry over homework, but Calculus was his only bad grade for the semester and a bad homework grade could ruin all hope of recovery. Besides, the teacher was notoriously strict about unfinished assignments.

“Good morning, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sang, skipping up to Iwaizumi with inordinate gusto. He made a big show of sniffing deeply. “You smell like burned paper.”

“Ha, ha” Iwaizumi grumbled, shooting a deadly glare right through Oikawa’s too-perfect fake smile. 

“Don’t worry, it’s an improvement,” Oikawa reassured, “it’s actually _ — _ ” he broke off, turning slightly pink.  _ Huh,  _ Iwaizumi thought.  _ Weird. He does have a filter.  _ Iwaizumi knew Oikawa better than anyone; he knew that Oikawa had only been rendered speechless a few times in his life, and it was usually a sign of a mental breakdown. This seemed different, though. Maybe Oikawa was trying to be considerate?

Deciding to encourage this unprecedented new behavior, Iwaizumi changed the subject. “Don’t set too much to Kindaichi today; he looks like he’s struggling with his—”

“Left shoulder, yeah. You should really make him go to the trainer. He’ll fall over himself to please you; I think your ugly face terrifies him.” Oikawa had tilted his face slightly upward, and the familiar aura of confidence enveloping him made Iwaizumi smile—subtly, though. Confidence was like blowing bubblegum: inflate it too much and it burst. Messily.

“I will,” Iwaizumi said quickly, realizing that Oikawa was waiting for an answer. “God knows your bedside manner is as nonexistent as your humility.” 

Oikawa scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’m a tender, empathetic person, and everyone loves me—especially sick people.”

“Oikawa, when kids fall down on the playground, you laugh.”

They continued to banter comfortably until they reached the gym—on time, but barely. The rest of the team was already in the gym; they were cutting it close. 

Mid-way through changing, Iwaizumi cursed. 

“So crude, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sang over his shoulder, pulling his shirt on.

“I didn’t bring a shirt,” Iwaizumi groaned, facepalming. “I took the dirty one out of my bag when I got home last night, but I guess I was so tired I didn’t realize I only grabbed clean shorts. I didn’t even wear a jacket today.”

Oikawa frowned, stroking his chin and assuming the air of an evil genius. “Well, it seems like you have two options. You can go to practice shirtless—” he paused, as if considering the idea, “—or you can wear my sweatshirt.” He held up the hideous tie-dye sweatshirt he’d become obsessed with recently. 

Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes blearily. “This seems like a perverse came of Would You Rather.” Oikawa grinned broadly. Continuing, Iwaizumi mumbled, “Of anything it could have been, it had to be the single most appalling piece of clothing you own. I’ll never live this down either way. Oh, God.” Oikawa sighed theatrically, raising his eyebrows and tapping a fake watch on his right wrist. Iwaizumi yanked the sweatshirt out of Oikawa’s hands, maintaining spiteful eye contact with the captain as he pulled it on.  _ It’s better than wearing my school uniform. Barely.  _ Iwaizumi made for the door, but an extended arm stopped him.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Oikawa asked, pouting. “I just  _ saved  _ you, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi bristled. Part of him considered wrestling his way past Oikawa, but they were late. “Thank you, Shittykawa,” he grumped, pulling the taller boy by the hand into the gym.

Luckily, most of the team were too intimidated by Iwaizumi to laugh at his unfortunate attire. The exceptions, of course, were Makki and Mattsun. (Despite how vehemently Iwaizumi claimed to oppose Oikawa’s nicknames for them, he couldn’t help but think of them that way.) They were exchanging meaningful glances and not-so-subtly snapping pictures. Iwaizumi sighed longsufferingly. 

Iwaizumi cornered Kindaichi and Coach Irihata for a quick discussion, which ended with Kunimi escorting a downcast Kindaichi to the trainer. The rest of the team warmed up and practiced receives for a while, and then Oikawa split the team up for three-on-threes. 

“On court two, we have Yahaba, Makki, and Watari on one side, and on the other—” Oikawa paused, a glint in his eye, “—myself, Iwaizumi, and Mattsun.”

Matsukawa scoffed, crossing his arms. “That’s fair, Captain. Perfectly matched. Never mind that nobody on this team can defeat you and your Iwa-chan when you’re playing together, let alone with  _ me  _ on the same side.”

Oikawa smirked. “No complaining! I’m forwarding all complaints to Vice Captain Iwa-chan from now on. Iwa-chan doesn’t handle complainers very well. He thinks his muscles are the best way to solve any problem. Be careful!”

Iwaizumi spiked a volleyball at Oikawa’s head, but he reacted quickly and set it to Mattsun, who caught it. Nothing could  _ possibly  _ have pissed Iwaizumi off more. He scowled, but Oikawa didn’t seem particularly intimidated. It was hard to intimidate Oikawa on a good day, but nearly impossible while wearing a rainbow sweatshirt with white-and-cerulean shorts. 

Minus the itch of the sweatshirt on his hot skin, it was a good practice. Fairly normal, although Makki and Mattsun seemed to be sending an unnecessary number of eyebrow wiggles Iwaizumi’s way. Oikawa was sharp, and Mattsun was solid. 

They were leading 24-18. Oikawa served, and Yahaba returned it as a chance ball. Mattsun picked it up easily, hitting it beautifully to Oikawa, who  _ looked  _ at Iwaizumi. Yahaba and Makki were moving in to block, but neither one was strong enough to shut out a truly powerful spike. Iwaizumi could have evaded, but he didn’t. He jumped as Oikawa set, then  _ slammed  _ the ball through the block. Watari dived, but he wasn’t even close.  _ Perfect. _ Even before hitting the ground, Iwaizumi was turning to see Oikawa’s face. The captain’s face was proud. Joyful.  _ Nobody else can do that like we can. _

The next thing he knew, Oikawa was hugging him. The setter’s fists clenched the sweatshirt on Iwaizumi’s back, and Iwaizumi could feel him laughing. “Iwa-chan, your timing was  _ perfect! _ ”

Iwaizumi pushed Oikawa away and slapped him hard on the back. “That set was  _ damn  _ good.”

Mattsun cleared his throat, clapping his hands. “Yippee! We won! Uh, it’s not a shocker. Isn’t this a bit much?”

As one, Iwaizumi and Oikawa turned to face Mattsun, grinning like idiots. “That,” Oikawa said, sweat shimmering on his forehead, “was  _ good _ .” Mattsun sighed in mock exasperation.

\-----------------------

Iwaizumi sat on the grass in the chilly courtyard, trying desperately to figure out his math homework. Oikawa and Hanamaki were trying to convince Mattsun that he would look good with a mullet, and Iwaizumi kept getting distracted. He had six problems left out of eight total, and only about 20 minutes. 

“Shittykawa!” he snapped. Halfway through a speech about Mattsun’s bone structure, Oikawa jumped, startled, and dropped his Kool-Aid pouch. He righted it immediately, frowning at the tiny red spot on his pants. Before Oikawa could start complaining about the stained clothing, Iwaizumi gestured for him to come closer. “Help me with these problems. Since it’s your fault they aren’t done in the first place.”

“Poor, stupid Iwa-chan needs my help! Of course I will grace you with my superior calculus skills.” Oikawa pranced over to Iwaizumi.

Makki snickered. “How is it Oikawa’s fault? Did he, you know...distract you?” he wiggled his eyebrows aggressively.

“If lighting my notes on fire counts as distracting me, then yes,” Iwaizumi griped, massaging his temple.

Makki and Mattsun exchanged looks. “That has got to be the worst excuse I’ve ever heard,” Mattsun concluded. “Unless…?” Without looking up, Iwaizumi dug the pitiful notebook out of his backpack and threw it at them. 

Ignoring their peals of laughter, he turned his attention to Oikawa, who was leaning over his shoulder. “Help me. Why is there a dx  _ and  _ a dy? I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Why don’t you just copy mine, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi groaned. “You really are a shitty guy. You know I don’t cheat.”

“And you really are an old man, Iwa-chan~” Oikawa trilled.

“An old man who’s  _ running out of time _ . Help. Now.”

As Oikawa started explaining, he rested his elbows on Iwaizumi’s shoulders. They worked through the problems together. Every time Iwaizumi messed up, Oikawa swiped the pencil from him, tutting and erasing the offending work. It was like having an extra set of extremely judgemental T-Rex arms, Iwaizumi thought.

After about two and a half problems, Iwaizumi realized that Makki and Mattsun were taking pictures again. He opened his mouth to tell them off, but realized as he did so that Oikawa had rested his chin gently on top of Iwaizumi’s head. When he spoke, his voice vibrated through Iwaizumi’s whole body. Blushing, Iwaizumi cleared his throat and proceeded to pretend that Makki and Mattsun didn’t exist.

Even with Oikawa’s help, there were still three unfinished problems when the bell rang and they packed up. Feeling a mounting sense of dread, Iwaizumi mentally prepared himself for a scolding. 

“Don’t worry,” Oikawa reassured. “The period is only 90 minutes long. There’s a cap on how much she can yell at you in that time.”

Oddly enough, that was comforting. “You’re one to talk,” Iwaizumi said through his teeth. “The only time she’s ever yelled at you is when you told her you couldn’t join Math Club because ‘volleyball practices are every day and Iwa-chan would miss me if I skipped’.” Arriving at the classroom, they took their seats. Oikawa sat directly behind Iwaizumi. 

Bracing himself, Iwaizumi pulled his incomplete homework out. Uchida-sensei moved throughout the classroom, collecting homework one student at a time. After an eternity, she came to a halt in front of Iwaizumi’s desk. “Iwaizumi-san,” she said sternly. “You did not finish the homework.”

“I apologize, Uchida-sensei,” Iwaizumi said. “I lost my notes. I couldn’t figure it out on my own, and I didn’t want to copy.”

“Careless. How did you lose your notes? Don’t you write in a notebook?”

Wordlessly, Iwaizumi showed her the charred notebook.

\-----------------------

Ninety minutes later, Iwaizumi fast-walked out of the classroom and into the free, non-judgemental corridor. Oikawa huffed indignantly at his side. “Detention? For a burned notebook? That’s ridiculous. Who’d have thought ruined office supplies would set her off like that?”

Iwaizumi snorted. “It’s fine. I probably won’t make it to practice, I guess. Tell the team for me?”

“Yeah. Um—” Oikawa bit his lip, looking awkward. He rarely looked awkward anymore. It was refreshing, Iwaizumi decided. “Sorry about the notebook. It’s my fault you’re in detention, and your parents will find out and—” 

Iwaizumi slapped him. Gently. Just enough to get him to shut up. “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about my parents; I’ll be fine. At least I won’t have to wear that sweatshirt again. Have a good practice, okay?” He wheeled around, marching toward the detention room. At least he’d have some Oikawa-free time to finish his homework. He should have said no to the movie last night. Oh, well. Oikawa had been happy.

\-----------------------

Not being at practice was weird. Iwaizumi was antsy. He stumbled through the last three math problems, but they took far longer than they should have. He couldn’t concentrate. Once he finished, he tried to do some Japanese homework, but the words melded together into one big sea of ink. He eventually gave up and stared at the board blankly, bouncing his leg and counting down the seconds.

Hopefully practice was going okay. He wondered how Kindaichi’s shoulder was doing. Hopefully the team would notice if Oikawa was trying to play through an injury again. Hopefully they’d make sure he went home at a reasonable time. He really was terrible at taking care of himself. Maybe Iwaizumi would have to swing by the gym on his way home, just in case.

Finally, the unlucky teacher who got stuck with detention duty for the day told Iwaizumi he could go. Looking at his watch, Iwaizumi almost sprinted out of the room. It was late; there was a good chance practice was over already. Maybe he’d catch the end—although then he would have to endure everyone’s taunts about what a delinquent he was.

Hanamaki was sitting directly across from the detention room, looking frazzled. When he saw Iwaizumi, he shot to his feet and grabbed Iwaizumi by the shoulders. Iwaizumi began pulling away, but something in Makki’s eyes stopped him. They were wide, frantic. Iwaizumi’s heart rate escalated, adrenaline rushing through his body. Seizing Makki’s shoulders, he shook him a little. “What’s wrong? Tell me!” He could hear the alarm bleeding into his voice. If this was a prank….

“Oikawa,” Hanamaki gasped, extricating himself from Iwaizumi’s grip. Iwaizumi tensed. “We don’t know what happened. He got a phone call when we were on break. He left the gym to take it, but he never came back. Mattsun and I found him in the locker room, sobbing. We can’t get him to talk—you’re the only one who can ever get through to him. He needs you, Iwaizumi. I’ve  _ never  _ seen him this bad, and—” 

Makki kept talking, but Iwaizumi didn’t hear anything more. He was already gone, running, sprinting, blood pounding in his ears and breath catching in his throat.  _ I’ve never seen him this bad.  _ Makki had seen Oikawa after every loss against Shiratorizawa, after he injured his knee. Something was wrong.  _ We can’t get him to talk. He never came back. He needs you. He needs you, Iwaizumi.  _ Sweat beaded on his face. A lump swelled in his throat, restricting his already-labored breathing.

He emerged from the labyrinthine school into the cold night air. Almost tripped over a gaggle of girls chatting in the middle of the sidewalk. Then he was there, dashing through the gym, almost ripping the locker room door off its hinges.

Iwaizumi stopped, standing still and taking in the scene. His body still propelled him forward; his breathing was heavy, and his quads burned. There, on the ground, in the smallest corner of the locker room, looking so _ small, _ was Oikawa. He was in the fetal position, head on his knees, but even his forehead looked red and swollen. Oikawa gave ugly crying new meaning.  _ Shit _ . Iwaizumi couldn’t think straight. Oikawa’s breathing was ragged. Dry sobbing. 

Blinking, Iwaizumi realized that Mattsun was there, slumped against the wall next to Oikawa. Staring straight ahead at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi nodded at him, then jerked his head forcefully toward the exit. Mattsun nodded back, picking himself up off the ground and silently leaving. He squeezed Iwaizumi’s shoulder as he passed. The door opened and closed. Iwaizumi counted to ten, then strode over to Oikawa and sat next to him. 

He was so small, so vulnerable. Iwaizumi brushed a thumb softly from Oikawa’s temple to the back of his ear. Raising his head a little, Oikawa looked up at Iwaizumi, barely meeting his eyes.  _ So small.  _ On impulse, Iwaizumi lifted Oikawa sideways into his lap, pulling his head close, onto his shoulder. His slim body was shivering, or maybe trembling. Iwaizumi kept one arm around his shoulders, the other under his bent knees.

“Tooru,” he whispered, voice cracking. Oikawa turned his head into Iwaizumi, clutching his arm with the hand that wasn’t crushed into Iwaizumi’s torso. His breathing accelerated, and his sobs intensified. Iwaizumi hugged him near, feeling so  _ stupid _ , wishing he could think, wishing he knew how to help. He felt tears slide down his own face, tears of frustration. With effort, closing his eyes, he began controlling his own breathing.  _ In-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. Repeat. Breathe.  _ He slipped into a haze, breathing rhythmically, trying to think and trying not to think. His shirt was wet where Oikawa’s face pressed into his shoulder. 

Several minutes passed. Minutes? Hours? With a start, Iwaizumi realized that Oikawa’s breathing had evened out to match his own. He had stopped crying. Relief washed over him.  _ Good. A start. Something done right _ — _ somehow.  _ Hesitantly, he squeezed Oikawa’s shoulder. The setter nodded, turning his face to the cold air and shifting a little. He stared straight ahead for a minute, at the wall to Iwaizumi’s left. 

“I got a phone call from my mother,” Oikawa whispered, voice ragged. “My sister and Takeru were in a car accident. She’s fine, but Takeru—he—” he paused, warding off another wave of tears. Iwaizumi tightened his hold on him. “He’s in the hospital. Unconscious. They don’t know if he’ll—” he inhaled sharply, visibly working to calm himself. “I feel—helpless. What will I do if he—what will I do? I love him so much and he can’t— _ leave. _ ”

“Shit,” Iwaizumi said. They sat in silence for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “Oikawa, it’s gonna be okay. I promise. You will be fine. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.Whatever happens,  _ we will make it _ .” He felt Oikawa relaxing into him, more and more with every breath. Calming. Gradually, his breathing shifted again, and Iwaizumi realized that he had fallen asleep. He smiled, shaking his head and running the fingers of his right hand through Oikawa’s messy hair.  _ He pretends he’s so untouchable, the idiot. _

Iwaizumi hoped his parents would assume he had gone home with Oikawa. He would stay here all night if he had to, cradling his best friend on the locker room floor. His arms ached from holding Oikawa upright. The adrenaline had left his body, leaving him hungry and tired. And the person who mattered to him more than any other, the miracle setter, the colossal nerd, the insecure egoist, was curled on his lap, asleep. Breathing. Trusting him. 

Suddenly, the theme from E.T. blared. He jolted, pulling his fingers out of Oikawa’s hair. He knew that ringtone all too well.  _ Damn.  _ He started rifling through Oikawa’s pockets, struggling to keep him upright, trying to find the phone so he could shut it up. He was too late. Oikawa jolted awake, producing his phone—which Iwaizumi realized had been in his left hand, crushed between their torsos—and sitting up slightly to answer it.

“Hello?” Oikawa’s voice was groggy, but hopeful. It was strange, not being able to feel his breathing. Oikawa listened for a few painful moments to the person on the other end, then exhaled. “ _ Oh _ , thank God. Yeah, Mom, I’m okay. Iwa-chan is with me. You can stay with him.” He smiled as he listened to his mother’s response. “Love you too.” He hung up, laying the phone on the ground beside him. “He’ll be okay. The doctors say he’ll make a quick recovery. My mom is staying with my sister and him.”

Iwaizumi grinned, relief washing over him. “See? I told you it would be okay.” He stood up, lifting Oikawa, and set him on his feet. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa laughed. He smiled. The real smile. “My hero. You smell awful. Did you run all the way here, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blushed, massaging the back of his neck. “You freaked Makki and Mattsun out pretty bad.”

Oikawa looked at him with big eyes. Starry. Eyes that Iwaizumi had seen almost every day of his life, eyes he didn’t think he could live without. “Thank you. I needed you.”

“I’ll always be here.” Even with a red, puffy face, Oikawa was unfairly beautiful. Normally, that would have annoyed Iwaizumi. Today, it made him happy. Proud. One more perfect thing about his strong, vulnerable friend. One more delightful note in his mental dossier of Oikawa’s quirks.

Oikawa was still gazing at him, lips slightly parted. Slowly, silently, carefully, he put one hand on Iwaizumi’s neck. Leaning in, he kissed him. Softly. Gently. Iwaizumi froze up momentarily, then melted into the kiss. So tentative. So different from the Oikawa everyone else knew, but so consistent with the one only he was allowed to see. He took Oikawa’s face in his hands, pushing back, deepening the kiss, wanting more. Needing more. Needing everything, all of him.

Oikawa pulled away, breathless. “Sorry,” Iwaizumi muttered, determinedly avoiding his gaze.

“Hajime...I think I’m in love with you,” Oikawa whispered. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes snapped back onto Oikawa’s. “What?”

“I think I’m in love with you.” Oikawa bit his lip, tense again.

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi mumbled, reaching out and brushing Oikawa’s hair out of his face. “Tooru. I, uh—I know I’m in love with you. I—I don’t know how I didn’t know that before. But I do. I. um. I ran here because I was terrified. I need you, and I want you to be happy.”

Oikawa laughed, an exquisite sound. “I’ve never had such an awkward confession, Iwa-chan.” 

“This from the guy who just spent an hour sobbing on my lap.”

“This from the guy who let me do it.”

“I’m always here for you to sob on. You know that.”

“I wouldn’t sob on anyone else, Iwa-chan.”

“God, you’re corny.”

“Touché. Go out with me?”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “We both know I would die for you,” he mused, looking up into Oikawa’s eyes. He felt a half-grin settle on his face.“I guess I don’t mind making that official.”

Oikawa  _ squealed _ , jumping up and down. Sighing, Iwaizumi pulled him close by the shoulders and kissed his forehead. He had to stand on his tiptoes to do it, which annoyed him, but only a little. Oikawa’s stunned, stupid expression was worth it. “Come on,” Iwaizumi said, pulling Oikawa over to where their bags sat, forgotten. “It’s late. And I need to do my math homework. At home. Alone. Where you can’t distract me or destroy my property.” He handed Oikawa his bag and shouldered his own. They left the locker room, beginning the walk home.

Oikawa giggled, sending a tingling sensation up Iwaizumi’s spine.  _ Whoa.  _ This was going to take some getting used to. “Are you sure? You’re not very good at math, you know. I can help you.”

Grinning, Iwaizumi shook his head. “I’m sure. I’ll figure it out—it shouldn’t be hard, since nobody  _ lit my notes on fire  _ this time. And you need more sleep. Crying is exhausting.”

“Are you worried about me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa teased.

Iwaizumi squeezed Oikawa’s hand. “Yeah,” he whispered into his ear. “Yeah, I am.”

Oikawa looked like a rocket about to launch. And, really, Iwaizumi knew he looked the same.

\-----------------------

The walk to school the next morning was pretty much the same as it had been every day before, filled with the same taunts and jokes and insults. Except that Oikawa kept looking at him, and he blushed  _ every time. _ As revenge, he would brush Oikawa’s hair behind his ear, whereupon Oikawa would turn bright red. God, they were hopeless. And, of course, they were holding hands.

“Are we telling the team?” Iwaizumi asked, nose scrunching. He thought the team would be accepting, and he knew their friends deserved to know about their relationship, but… Makki and Mattsun would give him a headache. And he might have to kick their asses afterward.

Oikawa frowned, using his free hand to fiddle with the collar of his jacket. This was a nice one. Blue, like a sane person’s jacket. “Makki and Mattsun will be insufferable. I know  _ I  _ can deal with it, but you’re always so sensitive—” 

Iwaizumi snorted. “They’ll be lucky to leave the gym on their own legs if they mess with me.”

“Your stench does tend to leave people weak in the knees,” Oikawa agreed.

“Like you, you mean?”

“No comment. Why don’t we wait to see if they notice? Then we can tell them they’re idiots when they finally figure it out.”

“Fine.”

They entered school grounds. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were outside the gym, leaning against the wall and talking. When they noticed Iwaizumi and Oikawa, their faces split into identical evil grins.

“So you  _ did  _ get together last night,” Mattsun trilled, wiggling his eyebrows flamboyantly. “Took you long enough. You’ve both been oblivious nincompoops. We weren’t surprised that  _ Iwaizumi  _ was clueless, of course, but we expected better from you, Oikawa.

“What?” Iwaizumi said, stopping dead in his tracks. “How did you—”

Makki sighed dramatically. “Your hands, lovebird. Look at your hands.”

Sure enough, Iwaizumi’s hand was still entwined with Oikawa’s. “Well, looks like we’re the idiots,” he muttered to Oikawa. He didn’t pull away, though, and neither did Oikawa. That made him stupidly happy.

“Anyways,” Makki continued. “Mattsun and I have a present for you in celebration of your upcoming nuptials. Uh, your fledgling relationship. Mattsun, would you do the honors?”

Mattsun unzipped his backpack, whipping out a huge, gaudy, flowery…

“Scrapbook?” Oikawa asked, beaming. “So we can commemorate our journey together?”

“Almost,” Makki replied, holding up a finger. A manic glint twinkled in his eye. “Actually, it’s filled already. A complete documentation of every time you and Iwaizumi have ever acted gay for each other. So, as you might imagine, it’s quite extensive.”

Oikawa seized the book, ears turning red. He started flipping through the photos, blushing more and more with each successive page. Against his better judgement, Iwaizumi moved closer so he could see.

Iwaizumi wasn’t the best judge of aesthetics, but even he could tell that the scrapbook was  _ incredibly  _ artistic. The photos were arranged at stylish angles, with colorful borders and neat captions. And the photos… the photos…. 

There were so many. Hundreds, probably. The earliest were from midway through their first year, when he and Oikawa had started hanging out with Makki and Mattsun. Oikawa feeding Iwaizumi off his chopsticks at a restaurant. The two of them on a rollercoaster, Oikawa clinging to Iwaizumi’s arm and screaming in terror, Iwaizumi looking absurdly stoic. Oikawa lying in the grass in the courtyard, Iwaizumi casually playing with his hair. 

Oikawa turned to the last page of the scrapbook, weirdly silent, and Iwaizumi’s jaw dropped. The photos were from  _ yesterday.  _ At the top was a picture of him in Oikawa’s sweatshirt, dragging his new boyfriend out of the locker room. Iwaizumi’s expression was thunderous, but Oikawa was looking at him fondly, proudly. Next was a photo from the courtyard. Oikawa rested his head on Iwaizumi’s as he explained differential equations. They looked carefree and disgustingly domestic.  _ No wonder they figured it out,  _ Iwaizumi thought.  _ How were we so…clueless?  _

The final picture was blurry. Iwaizumi squinted. With a start, he realized it was a photo of himself as he ran to find Oikawa after detention. It was captioned, _“Go get your man, Iwa-chan!”_. He felt himself tearing up. Annoyed, he pinched himself hard, which cleared it right up. He heard Oikawa sniffle; at least he wasn’t alone. He redirected his attention to Makki and Mattsun. “These pictures are from _yesterday_ ,” he said, perplexed. “How did you know to finish this?”

Makki and Mattsun smirked in unison. “We had a feeling you’d talk things out,” Makki said. “And we were out of space, anyway. You acted like a couple a  _ lot _ . And we don’t even know what you did when we weren’t around. This is going to be so much worse.”

“You bet it will,” Oikawa taunted, placing his hand jauntily on his hip. The scrapbook had disappeared—probably, Iwaizumi suspected, into his boyfriend’s backpack. Without any warning, Oikawa pulled Iwaizumi close and kissed him. Partly angry, but mostly just pleasantly shocked, Iwaizumi felt himself closing his eyes and kissing back. Makki and Mattsun made gagging noises, and Iwaizumi had never been so happy to ignore them.

From a thousand miles away, Yahaba’s voice emanated from inside the gym: “Oi, third years, you’re late! Get your asses in here before I—holy  _ shit! _ ”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment! I don't have a beta, so feedback is welcome.


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